


crushes and compliments

by quisinart4



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, and will forever mourn that they left us too soon :'(, basically i love them so much and can't get them out of my head, why do good shows happen to bad networks?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quisinart4/pseuds/quisinart4
Summary: Mike and Ginny discuss celebrity crushes, and Ginny pays his post-retirement body a few compliments. Future fluff fic.





	crushes and compliments

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [MPG post-Pitch look post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/388811) by @ tumblr. 



> After marathoning this show again and devouring every word of fic on ao3, I decided to try my hand at these two because I *cannot* get them out of my head. It's ridiculous how in 10 episodes they have stolen my heart, and how I will forever mourn we won't see them onscreen again. :'( 
> 
> This was inspired by the above linked tumblr post regarding the below picture of MPG stepping out post-Pitch. As you can see, he lost the weight and trimmed the beard. :'( The post talks about how it'd be Mike's post-retirement look and how Ginny would love it, and she commented how even the woman in the picture seems to be admiring Mike. ;) Hence this fic idea was born.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It was supposed to have a point but just turned into meaningless fluff bc honestly, who doesn't just want them to cuddle and banter back and forth? :') Would love some feedback! xoxo

"Mike, Mike! How do you feel about the Padres chances for post-season this year?"

"What did you think of Duarte's play against the Dodgers last week? Too risky?"

"Guys, guys, I'm just here supporting my team and the SD Council for Literacy," Mike calls out to the reporters as he goes down the press line, chuckling as he waves away their questions. "And, yes, the Padres will always be my team," he adds, a fond smile on his face as he thinks of the clubhouse, his guys, the World Series ring tucked away in a shoebox in his dresser. "For once, let's put the game aside and focus on getting school supplies for these kids, okay?"

He thinks of his own check for twenty thousand dollars to the foundation, recalls the pitying looks from his teachers and classmates when he'd show up on the first day of school with a couple of ballpoint pens with various bank logos and a half-used composition notebook. Not that he had much potential as a student to begin with, but it sure as hell would have been nice to have some new school supplies to at least _feel_ like he could conquer the third grade.

"We noticed you and Ginny Baker arrived here together. Does that confirm the rumors you're together?"

"Carpooling, Aaron," Mike replies, "going green. Let's all do our part to save the environment, okay? She's headed your way, you can ask her yourself." He winks at the reporters, turning to move away and bumps into a woman behind him. "Oh, Tanya, sorry, I didn't see you there," he apologizes, recognizing the organization's media affairs publicist.

"No, it's my fault, Mr. Lawson," she says quickly, stepping further back until she almost hits the backdrop. "Sorry about that."

"You're good. What can I say?" He gestures toward the press and shrugs dramatically. "I'm old news but the camera just loves me."

"Right," she laughs, looking starstruck even after all these years. The reporter who'd been interviewing her pauses to turn his way too, mesmerized by his grin.

"How's your son? What's he, in middle school now?"

"Yeah, yeah, seventh grade," Tanya answers proudly. "He's inside with his dad, he can't wait to see you guys. Wants his poster signed."

"Great. I'll look for him." With another smile and a quick pat on her shoulder, he waves at the cameras and heads further down the press line, meeting up with the huddle of teammates at the end.

 _Former_ teammates.

"Lawson," Duarte greets him, looking way too casual in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt that's unbuttoned to reveal as much of his chest as he can. He eyes the former catcher up and down, eyebrow raising at his slimmer figure. "Retirement actually looks good on you."

"Wrong again, Livan," Mike corrects as he shakes hands with the guys and leans in for manly slap-on-the-back hugs, " _everything_ looks good on me."

They chuckle at his reply, making small talk, updating him on the status of their love lives, ribbing on him about his recent weight loss and loss of facial hair. If he comments to them about their upcoming playoff chances, that's acceptable. They still slip up and call him "Captain" sometimes and he doesn't hate it. It's become more of a nickname than a position of hierarchy now, and he's sentimental about it.

He's aware the second she's arrive at the press line. The entire room is. The roar of the reporters questions gets significantly louder along with the sound of the cameras clicking faster than ever for that perfect shot. Three years later and Ginn-sanity has only simmered to a dim roar. He hears her answering some questions, supporting the worthy cause they're here for, but she doesn't linger very long, making her way down to the guys, rolling her eyes and blushing as they whistle dramatically and compliment her.

"Lawson," she greets him, as if they hadn't shared the car ride here.

"Baker," he replies, his eyes twinkling in appreciation as he takes in her outfit, more professional and business-like than her usual party attire but makes sense considering the type of event they're at. If it happens to be complement his own suit and blazer, no tie, open collar look for the evening, well, so be it.

She smiles, rolling her eyes at him and grabs for his hand, pulling him through the huddle of her teammates. "Come on, I'm hungry. There's food inside."

He resists looking back and tossing a grin at the guys who cheer and catcall at them, or the cameras that start flashing in double time as they pick up on the couple's movement.

After all, _she'd_ grabbed _his_ hand, not the other way around so he's not responsible for all the #bawson tweets that'll pop up in the next hour.

* * *

"That was actually fun. I wish Gabe and Marcus could come to every event," she says hours later, curled up on the bed as she watches him shed his blazer and take his cuff links off.

Mike chuckles, eyeing the skin of her bare legs as her dress rides up her thigh when she stretches. Smooth skin that's soft but he knows the strength of the muscles underneath. "Yeah, if only." He moves to begin work on the buttons of his dress shirt, when she calls out to him.

"Come here, let me."

He raises an eyebrow at her invitation, but what kind of idiot would he be to refuse?

He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, groaning more out of habit than out of pain. His knees have been very agreeable with his post-retirement lifestyle, cooperating nicely now that he's not putting them through hell with hours of torture on the baseball diamond every day.

Ginny stands up in one fluid movement, long limbs and toned arms, the subtle smell of whatever floral scent she spritzes on for press events enveloping him as she stands close and begins to work on the buttons of his shirt. She meets his gaze and smiles softly, pausing to rest a hand at his jawline, fingers rubbing at the shorter hair there. "When's your beard gonna grow back?"

He smirks at her, nuzzling his face into her palm, nipping with his teeth and enjoying the feel of her squirming against him. "You miss it, huh?"

"I do not!" She shakes her head, laughing as she moves her hand away, focusing her attention on his buttons. "I just think it's dumb the studio asked you to try a new look."

"Hmm, really? You prefer the lumberjack look?"

"No, I don't," she teases again. "It's just dumb. Who cares what you look like? You're a ballplayer."

"I'm not a ballplayer anymore, rookie," he reminds her gently.

"Yes, you are," she argues. "Just because you're not, you know, _playing ball_ right now, doesn't mean you aren't one. You always will be one. That's just how it is."

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, mulling it over as he enjoys the sensation of her fingers making their way down his chest, one button at a time. Maybe she's right. I mean, politicians are always politicians, retired teachers will always be teachers, doctors are still doctors even when they're not practicing. Maybe he'll always be a ballplayer.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, he loves the way she sees the world. Hopeful and optimistic, sentimental and kind. Maybe she's too young to know better or maybe that's just who Ginny Baker is. He looks forward to finding out as the years go on, though he'd never admit those plans to her. Not yet. Doesn't want to spook her.

"So, what were the guys ragging on you about?" she questions.

"No ragging, just telling me how gorgeous I look." He winks at her, hands rubbing up and down her arms, unable to resist touching her in some way when she's standing so close.

She throws her head back and laughs. "Okay, now I know you're going delusional in your old age."

"Hey, even Duarte complimented me and we know he's a narcissistic SOB."

"Narcissistic, huh? I recall someone else saying they were a narcissist SOB a few years ago," Ginny teases, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I didn't say SOB," he corrects her, hands wrapping around her waist, trailing up her back up to find the zipper of her dress and tugging it down just an inch, waiting to see if she'll stop him. She doesn't, so he keeps unzipping. "Maybe you should get  _your_ memory checked."

"Oh right, the SOB was just what I added on in my head," she chuckles. She slides his shirt off him, hands moving to his shoulders and massaging gently, smiling as he rolls his shoulders back and moans happily at the sensation.

"I'll have you know I'm going through a metamorphosis, rookie. Had to get a new suit for today, thank you very much. Gonna cost a fortune to have my old stuff altered."

"Hmm," Ginny says thoughtfully. "Maybe I believe you. That one Literacy Council lady was totally eye-humping you."

"Eye  _what?_ " he repeats, laughing at the expression. He tries not to think of how many times a day he laughs now that she's around; the number has increased exponentially, and he likes it. "You mean eye- _fucking?_ "

"No," she says, shaking her head as she perches on his lap, high up on his thigh as to avoid his knee. She's always good about that, takes such good care of him, it takes him aback knowing someone's constantly watching out for him and his busted old knees, not to win any game but to make sure he's okay. "Eye-fucking is like, _super_ sexual. Eye-humping is more appreciative, like you know someone looks good and have a crush on them but not so publicly obvious."

"Okay, that is weirdly specific." Mike shakes his head in wonder. Millennials. Where the hell do they get this stuff? Then he tries not to cringe that he's dating one, he's _in love with one_ \- 1992, she was born in _1992_. He's gotten over the age difference, mostly, sort of, most days. But sometimes it hits him all over again.

"Anyway, you mean Tanya? She's got a boyfriend. And a kid. Maybe two kids? Can't remember."

Her hands run up and down his chest, fingernails scratching lightly at his skin through his shirt, trailing over newly defined muscles. Well, _better_ defined. They've always been there but with a little extra meat on the bones that he needed as a catcher. Now? Well, he might always be a ballplayer but he's not a catcher anymore so he didn't mind shedding the extra pounds. Not that he was actively trying. It just sort of happened in between morning workouts with Ginny, swims in the pool this summer, and evening workouts of a different kind. Hey, sex is mostly cardio, and a whole lot of upper body strength too. Not to mention he's finally home enough to actually make dinner, with actual fresh ingredients instead of that microwaveable stuff he's gotten used to for a decade. What a difference throwing together a quick meal makes.

"You can have a boyfriend and still have a crush on someone," Ginny says pointedly.

She just wants to start that conversation, doesn't she?

He raises an eyebrow at her, trying not to frown because it's exactly what she wants. "Oh, can you?"

"Yup," she says, popping the word dramatically, grinning at the trap she's leading him into.

And dammit, he falls for it. Because he'll fall for her every time.

"And who exactly do you have a crush on?"

"Um, Jesse Williams, Chris Evans, Chris Pine, Ryan Gosling, Trevante Rhodes, Michael B. Jordan-"

"Okay, that's enough," Mike interrupts with an eyeroll. "Nice how you have that list on the tip of your tongue."

She only grins, her fingers trailing up and down his abdomen, over the ladder of his rib cage then up to his broad shoulders. The shoulders make her blush because she loves to hold on there, pulling him closer, asking for it harder and _faster_.

"That was just the Hollywood section," she adds. "I haven't even gotten to the professional sports section yet."

"Oh, there are _sections?_ " Mike rolls his eyes, his hand moving up and down her back in tandem to the way she's rubbing at his stomach. He slides down her dress but it gets tangled around her shoulders since her arms are still wrapped around him. Still, he nips playfully at the collarbone he's revealed. "And Chris Evans? Isn't that a bit of a cliche?"

"He's Captain America," she points out slowly, as if he doesn't know, as if he really is that incredibly old. "What woman wouldn't want to get with Captain America?"

"Right, of course, silly me."

"Well, who do you have a crush on?"

"Just you," he answers solemnly.

She flushes at that, color rising on her cheeks as she bites her lower lip to hide her pleased smile at his answer. "Really?"

"Well, that was as of two seconds ago but you can damn well bet I'm gonna be on Wikipedia tonight constructing my own damn list," he tells her.

She laughs that horse-y laugh, wrapping her arms clear around his neck and moving to straddle him. He groans in exaggeration at the movement even though it's exactly what he wanted, to be able to have her close and wrap his arms around her waist. She leans against him so her weight is angled towards his broad chest instead of toward his knees, and looks up at him that it's okay; he silently nods that he's good, and she smiles in relief, leaning up to finally drop a kiss on his lips.

"I'll have you know, Baker, there are some women like the Tanyas of the world who don't mind this old bag of bones, okay?"

There's a pause, and then, she admits, "Um, I don't mind it either." Her voice is quiet with no hint of teasing and she makes eye contact with him shyly before she looks away.

Mike arches an eyebrow at her, even though she's not looking his way. She's eyeing his shoulders again, tracing at a few freckles as if playing connect the dots. He tugs at a few strands of hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Really? Is that so?"

"I mean, it's not _old_ , it's just, you know, old _er_. Plus I think you're actually younger than the Chris-es. Well, one of them. I can't remember which," she shrugs, scrunching her nose in thought as if the matter is of importance.

"Well, as long as I have that going for me," he drawls sarcastically.

"You have a lot going for you," she says, that same solemn tone where there's no teasing between them, only truth. They don't use it too often in the light of day, usually it's a lot of banter and playful insults, remarks on each other's age and wardrobes and tastes in music. But sometimes when it's just the two of them in the sanctity of their bedroom, enclosed by four walls and dim light, the honesty claws through, quiet confessions whispered out loud to ease each other's insecurities.  
There he goes again, thinking of it as _their_ bedroom when she's got that two bedroom apartment downtown, though he can't remember the last time they spent the night there.

"I like it now," Ginny says, her fingernails scratching sensually up and down his ribcage and he unconsciously swallows a lump of desire to continue listening to her. "And I liked it before too."

"Yeah? When I was catching for you?"

She hides her face in the crook of his neck as she nods and he tries not to think about that red lipstick she's wearing, a pop of color on her face that only further illuminates her stunning smile. She hadn't taken her makeup off when they got home ( _home_ , there's that word again), it's possible she's leaving an imprint of those lips right there next to his Adam's apple. It's possible that that is so hot he has to spread his legs wider for adjustment's sake.

"Yeah," Ginny admits, turning her head to peek up at him, locking eyes with his and biting her lower lip as if confessing a sin. "You're big and strong, and powerful and..." Her hands stretch across the wide expanse of his chest, front and back, across his muscles and down his shoulders and arms. "Whenever you're next to me, I just feel so..."

But she quiets, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. Mike nudges her shoulder with his own, raising an eyebrow at her to continue. "So what? You gonna leave me hangin' here, Baker?"

She rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around him tighter, dropping a kiss on his shoulder as she nuzzles in the crook of his neck again. "I just feel safe."

His hands tighten around her at the confession, clutching the words close to him and inhaling the scent of her. Underneath that ritzy floral perfume, she smells like lavender soap, the same way she would in the clubhouse right before practice.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," she answers. "And, come on, you know you're..." She chuckles and glances at him before darting her eyes away. She bends to whisper in his ear. "Hot." She nips at the shell of his ear before wrapping her arms around his neck and unconsciously leaning closer towards him, grinding on top of him, giving him a wink. "I mean, we could barely get through our first date, we wanted to rip each other's clothes off. It's only been two months. Don't tell me you forgot already."

"I don't think I'll ever forget that night," Mike answers with a fond smile, running a hand through her curls to raise her head and kiss her on the mouth the way he wants to. There's no formality, not after the time they've taken to get to know each other, to intimately explore the canvases of their bodies. He leans forward, nipping at her bottom lip, tongue coming out to soothe it immediately, waiting for her to retaliate by digging her nails into his back. She does, and he smiles, liking the idea that they have a rhythm, that they have reflexes to a kiss.

"Besides," Ginny tells him, breaking away for a gasp of air as she drops kisses down his jawline, "weren't you just on some San Diego's hottest bachelors list last year after you retired?"

"Keepin' up with my press appearances, are you?" he asks with a sly smile.

"Shut up!"

"I don't blame you, that was a good photoshoot. Me lounging shirtless by the pool, I can get you a signed poster for your collection if you want-"

"And there you go ruining the moment," she huffs, pushing at his shoulders and launching herself off his lap in a move that only showcases once again how young she is.

"Wait, wait, come back!" He grabs for her, tugging her back to him with one arm around her waist and the other sliding her unzipped dress to the floor so it lands in a puddle around her feet. "No poster comments, I promise."

"I somehow doubt that," Ginny argues, struggling against his grip playfully, squealing as he hauls her up on the bed, pinning her under his weight. His chest traps her underneath him effectively even as she tries to squirm and evade his traveling hands. "Stop that! It tickles!"

"I bet," he murmurs against the skin of her collarbone. "So you liked that photoshoot, huh?"

"It was okay," she answers with a shrug, eyes sparkling with laughter as she lazily runs her fingers through his hair. "The pool picture was not completely hideous."

Mike lets out a huff of laughter, marveling again at how they communicate so effectively, in secret languages and flushes on cheeks, because by the way the color is rising on her face he can tell she did not at all find it hideous, even if she'll never admit it.

"What about the one with the baseball bat?"

"Hmm, decent, I guess." Ginny leans up to kiss him as her hands make quirk work of his belt and pants, sliding them off and pulling him further on top of her. "What about the one by the motorcycle?"

Mike's brow furrows, tilting his head in thought as he tries to recall the prop. "I didn't have one by a motorcycle."

"Oh, my bad, that was Livan," she says nonchalantly, shaking her head at herself in an act of innocence. She shrieks in laughter when he growls at her, holding her firm as he pretends to nip along her neckline, deliberately dragging his beard along her soft skin so she squirms at the sensation. "No, not the stubble, no, stop, Mike!"

"You're a real brat, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know."


End file.
